


A nation of thieves and monsters

by TheMissingMask



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mutants, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mutants, Pirates, Silver is a little shit, gold - Freeform, silverflint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-06-10 00:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6931444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMissingMask/pseuds/TheMissingMask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Civilisation created monsters from men starved of hope.  It turns out some of these men might fit that description better than originally thought.</p><p>Basically Black Sails AU with mutants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

Flint watched, unimpressed, as his crew chanted and beat their swords on the deck. An unnecessary display when half the prize crew were already corpses and those that remained were cowering in a what amounted to a wooden box.

It had been almost pitiful, the attempt of this small merchant vessel to retaliate. Out-gunned and with the wind against her, she had been able to muster little resistance against the Walrus. And now, with masts blown to timber, she, her cargo and her crew were at the mercy of Flint’s men. They were not in a merciful mood.

A barrel of gunpowder split open the cabin that served as the final defence for the survivors. Through the clearing smoke, Flint’s men charged. Swords drawn, they cut down terrified merchant sailors, taking little damage in the process. Finally, seeing the resistance diminished to only a dozen men, Flint shouted through the turmoil, bringing an end to the violence as he pronounced the deed done.

As the few survivors were herded to the main deck, Flint headed to the captain’s quarters. He wasn’t sure if the captain had been among the survivors or a corpse on the deck, or if he was perhaps hiding in his cabin still. And so, with sword drawn in case of the latter, he pushed open the unlocked door and stepped into the room.

To say that the scene he was met with was unexpected would be a severe understatement.

A greying man with a short pony tail and a well-tailored coat was lying face-up on the floor, throat slit and eyes wide open in a grotesque malformation of fear. Seated on the floor against a support beam not a meter from the corpse was another man, staring with bright blue eyes at the room’s new occupant.

His hands were bound behind the beam with coarse rope that was similarly wrapped around his throat, forcing his back flush against the wood. Pitch black curls tumbled down around his shoulders, in places intertwined with the rope around his neck. The thin white shirt he wore was open at the front, exposing a well-tanned chest. He wore loose-fitting brown pants which bundled around his ankles and over his bare feet.

For the briefest of moments, it looked as though fear flashed across those blue eyes, before they adopted an unreadable expression. The man smiled at Flint, who returned the gesture with a cock of his eyebrow.

“Hello.” Flint hazarded, taking a steady step into the cabin.

“Hello.” Returned the man, as easily as if they had met in a tavern on a Sunday afternoon. “That’s Captain Parrish. He simply couldn’t handle the thought of what you might do to him.”

Flint raised his eyebrow further, “Is that so?”

The blue-eyed man nodded as best he could against the restraint around his neck.

“And who are you?”

The man paused for a moment before responding, clearly calculating the most appropriate reply. “No one significant to any person of importance, if that’s what you are asking.”

“Yet significant enough to be tied to a post on a ship bound for London.”

“Apparently.”

Flint raised both eyebrows and rephrased the question with a nod to their deceased co-occupant, “Who are you to him?”

“Cargo, I suppose.”

“Unusual cargo.”

“Unusual pirate.”

Flint frowned at the retort and walked further into the room. He scanned the corners cautiously lest anyone be hiding in the small cabin, but found it empty aside from the blue-eyed man, the dead captain and himself.

“What’s your name?” He continued to explore the room with his eyes, not looking at the man as he addressed him.

“John Silver.” Flint could feel the bright eyes on his back, “And yours?”

“James Flint.” He wasn’t quite sure why he had given his first name, but brushed it off as some lingering habit from his days as a civilised man.

Flint begun to move again, picking up the occasional object of potential value and assessing it briefly before moving on, always headed toward the logs stored on a shelf beside the desk. In one of those logs was what he had been searching for, he was sure of it. This had to be the right ship.

“So, what happens now?” John Silver was asking, “I’m not with the crew and therefore really not worth killing, but I don’t exactly want to be a pirate…”

Flint just levelled a look at Silver in response before returning to his inspection of the cabin. He noted one or two novels he was sure he hadn’t read, and from the dust collected on them nor had the late captain. Finally, he reached the desk and began to flick through the most recent log left open on it. Not looking up, he spoke again.

“We will be sinking this ship once all the cargo is unloaded.”

“As I indicated before, I am cargo.”

“Once all valuable cargo is unloaded.”

“And what makes you think I am not of value to you?”

“Are you?”

“I could be.”

Flint smirked at the quick, uninformative retorts this man offered. Then he paused at a page in the log, looked from it to Silver, and closed the book abruptly, tucking it into his coat. He stepped around the desk back towards where Silver was seated.

“We’ll take you back to Nassau, figure out what to do with you there.” He drew a knife and began to cut the rope around Silver’s neck. It fell to reveal raw red marks where the rope had been digging into his skin. His wrists were in a similar state - painful perhaps, but nothing serious.

“Get up.” Flint grabbed the smaller man by the collar, pulling him roughly to his feet and shoving him towards the door. With one hand tightly clasping Silver’s upper arm, Flint led him across the deck to where Billy was helping Gates organise passage of their small and largely worthless prize cargo onto the Walrus.

“Tie him up in my cabin.” He pushed Silver into Billy.

“What? Do you really need to tie me back up? That seems wholly unnecessary. I mean, where exactly to you suppose I could run off to in the middle of the ocean?”

“Who is he?” Billy spoke over Silver’s protests.

Flint smirked and glanced sidelong at his prisoner, “Cargo.”

Without another word, Flint was walking back to the captain’s cabin to find the reason they had hunted this ship in the first place. The Urca de Lima course and schedule.

Billy was left with a still complaining Silver. The taller man shrugged and grabbed Silver’s arm.

“You heard him.” A more gentle shove this time towards a plank bridging the two ships.

Silver’s shoulders sagged and he allowed himself to be led to Flint’s cabin, glancing back at the defeated crew one final time. He supposed this outcome was preferable to being slaughtered alongside them.

————————————

“Here. Look at this.” Flint whispered to Gates, handing him the log in his hands. Gates flicked through the book, noting the course, schedule and scrawled notes regarding the treasure galleon all there.

“I told you this was the ship.” He kept his voice low, out of earshot of Dufresne, who was miserably tallying up the costs and earnings from this prize. Flint was grinning now. Gates returned the expression as he handed back the log.

“We will start preparations as soon as we return to Nassau.” Flint continued. “We’ll have to be quiet about it.”

“You’re not going to tell the crew.” Gates’ smile fell at the realisation. “This is the fourth prize in a row for which the profits will barely exceed the expenses it took to win it. Singleton’s days away from having the support he needs to depose you as captain, all because we have been chasing a prize in secrecy because you don’t trust your men. And now that we have the means to obtain that prize, you still refuse to tell them.”

“We tell them now, and every whore in Nassau will know about it within hours of our making landfall.” Flint tucked the log into his coat alongside the other, “And we will be competing with every other crew on the island for that gold.”

Gates looked ready to protest and Flint ready to argue, but their conversation was cut short by a call from outside. Another ship.

They hurried to the forecastle deck where Flint was passed a glass. A naval ship. The Scarborough. Immediately he gave the order to cut loose and get underway. Within minutes the crew of Parrish’s ship were dead and the Walrus was sailing away with a meagre haul, headed back to Nassau.

Flint marched back across the deck to his cabin, Gates in his wake. The quartermaster stopped part way to shout some orders to the men, and hurried to catch up with the captain just as he was opening the door.

The pair had entered, crossed the room to the rich wooden desk and nearly sat down by the time both realised they were not alone.

“Who the fuck is he?” Gates’ gaze fell on the dark-haired man sitting a couple of feet from him on the floor.

In the wake of events on the prize ship and his excitement over the Spanish gold, Flint had all but forgotten the man stashed in his quarters. The man who currently had one wrist shackled to a cannon that Flint was never quite sure why he kept in there, and the free hand resting of Flint’s copy of Paradise Lost.

“Oh.” Flint dropped the logs on his desk along with a leather-bound novel he thought Miranda might appreciate. “Mr. Gates, meet John Silver.”

“But who the fuck is he?”

Flint handed him the first log, a leather thong tucked in between two pages to mark that of interest. Gates observed it, eyebrows raised, glanced to Silver and returned the book to Flint.

“Would someone care to tell me the fuck what is so interesting about that log as it relates to me?”

“Why does England want you?” Flint sat at his desk and Gates opposite him.

“Fuck if I know! I was just grabbed somewhere off the coast of New England and thrown in that ship. The men didn’t say why or where the fuck they were taking me.”

“You really expect us to believe that you have absolutely no clue why England is willing to pay a small fortune for your capture?” Flint raised his eyebrow incredulously.

“They’re having a crack down on petty thievery?” Silver offered, clearly exasperated with the state of affairs.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter in any case - provided we get paid, they can do what the fuck they want with you.”

“Wait? You’re going to hand me over to them?” Silver looked frantic and tugged instinctively against this shackles.

“You know, most men would rather put their lot in with England than with a notorious pirate captain.”

Silver shrugged, “A notorious pirate captain with a good taste in books.” He gestured with his free hand to the open volume before him. Flint glared at it for a moment. Although Billy must have given it to him, presumably to keep him quiet, the very prospect of this unknown man touching his books was mildly infuriating.

Flint stood from his desk and moved to crouch before Silver. Taking his chin in one hand, he briefly inspecting the man before him. Something in those eyes was inexplicably captivating. He stared for a long moment into the depths of them. What he saw there…something unsettling and familiar. Something that caused his breath to catch in his throat. Finally he released Silver with a slight shove.

“Don’t bend the pages.” He warned before standing and moving to sit back at his desk. He had more important matters to attend to, specifically one Spanish treasure galleon that he was certain had his name written all over it.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silver tries to make his escape and Vane uncovers Flint's plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we are starting to see some mutant-ness here...please let me know what you think...I was proper nervous posting this as I never used to write at all before recently, and then shoving mutant stuff into a Black Sails fic is certainly not something I have done before, so please, any feedback would be awesome! I hope people enjoy this, and feel free to send me ideas! :) Also, feel free to hit me up on tumblr if you feel so inclined.

“You could at least have given me some shoes.” Billy wasn’t sure how much more eye-rolling he could manage, but he was certain he would find out if Silver carried on with his incessant complaining.

He trailed behind the smaller man, keeping a close distance but not sufficiently close to arouse any suspicion. This meant walking at an irritatingly slow pace as Silver carefully surveyed the ground ahead, tip-toeing around sharp rocks and wayward pieces of glass decorating the street leading up to the tavern.

Flint had instructed Silver be taken to there for assessment by Eleanor Guthrie. Surely she would have the necessary contacts to arrange for his sale. Marching a man in chains through the streets of Nassau would attract attention that Flint would really rather avoid, and so he had ordered Silver be untied but kept under close guard. Hence why Billy was here, with the irritating curly-haired man instead of on the beach helping his brothers unload their cargo.

A yelp from the prisoner grabbed Billy’s attention. Apparently he had stepped on a nail. Billy released a sigh as Silver leant on him for balance to extract the sharp piece of metal from his foot. Another roll of the eyes as Silver informed him that, should this continue, Billy was going to have to carry him the rest of the way. Yet another as Silver proceeded to grin up at him, clearly amused by the nuisance he was being to his guard.

Billy brushed the hand off his arm and shoved Silver lightly on the shoulder, urging him to keep going. Flint and Gates were several metres ahead already, talking in hushed voices about some secret Billy was mildly concerned he had yet to be let in on. Silver seemed to pick up on the unease in the bosun because he felt the need to start talking again.

“Awfully suspicious, isn’t it?” His voice was conspiratorial, “The whole time I was in Flint’s cabin, they were discussing something. Some sort of venture. Something to do with one of the logs Flint took…” He paused for effect and Billy chastised himself for hanging on intently for Silver to finish. “But why would they feel the need to keep it from their trusted bosun? Must be quite some venture…”

After a moment of deliberation, Billy glared down at Silver once more. “Move.” He shoved Silver again, this time with somewhat more force, at least enough to send the smaller man staggering several steps ahead in an attempt not to fall over.

When the pair finally arrived at the tavern, Flint and Gates were stood at the entrance to observe their approach.

“Everything alright?” Flint asked, eyeing them both with equal suspicion. It was a habit of the captain, which Billy never understood. Flint always seemed unduly suspicious of his crew.

“Aye.” The bosun’s response seemed adequate, eliciting a nod from the captain before he turned and led the company inside.

They entered to an eerily silent tavern just in time to hear Eleanor Guthrie inform a rather unfortunate, extremely overwhelmed man before her that she intended to ‘go fuck herself’. There was a raucous cheer from the men assembled within before they returned to whatever debauchery had been interrupted by the exchange.

Gates and Flint were visibly amused, but Billy just frowned and placed one hand firmly on Silver’s shoulder, a deterrent to any thoughts of escape. Gates turned to Billy just as Flint stalked off in Eleanor’s wake, “Wait here.”

Billy opened his mouth to object but the quartermaster was already on Flint’s heels. He watched in dismay as the three entered her office followed promptly by Mr. Scott, and the door shut behind them.

Billy looked down at the prisoner who returned a winning smile. Billy glared. It was going to be a very long day.

———————————

Charles Vane was a reasonable man. He valued loyalty, never picked fights with anyone who didn’t deserve it, didn’t lie very often, and gave people a justifiable chance to prove themselves to him before he deemed them unworthy of his time.

He may be a reasonable man, but a man, however reasonable, did not last long in a place like Nassau without making a few enemies. Charles Vane had a lot of enemies, and none he deemed more fitting of the position than James Flint.

That he found the man infuriating would be putting it lightly. Flint was too restrained, too weak, too willing to follow the rules set by civilisation in a place where they had every right and full capacity to make their own rules.

Charles Vane sought freedom. A home in Nassau where he could be himself and no one would tell him what to do. Where he had power over his life and where a man was given high regard based on his merits, not his ability to fall in line with the laws set in place by a far-removed king. He wanted to make Nassau this place of freedom, and James Flint was an impediment to that goal so long as he held power and sway here.

Vane took a bite from the apple currently impaled on one of the four silver claws extending from his knuckles and glared at the Walrus as she ferried launches full of cargo to the beach. Even from this distance it was quite obviously a pathetic haul. A worthless prize taken by a worthless captain. He took another bite of the apple.

“Captain,” Jack Rackham, Vane’s witty, too-smart-for-his-own-good, quartermaster. “Are you intending to sit there glaring holes in the Walrus all day long, or might you perhaps consider doing something towards securing us a lead from Madam Guthrie?”

Vane munched on the apple. Oh. And then there was the Eleanor Guthrie problem.

He sighed and stood up, flicking the apple from the claws on his left hand to land in the palm of the right. Begrudgingly retracting the claws back into his knuckles he began walking towards the street, Jack and his shadow Anne Bonny in tow. Those two might not have minded the appendages, but the rest of the street were not quite so sympathetic towards people with ‘abilities’ such as his.

———————————

“As I said, you’ll have it.” Eleanor looked up at Flint, who nodded but made no move to leave despite their discussion regarding preparations for retrieving the Urca gold being complete.

Eleanor raised her eyebrows. “Something else?”

“Cargo. Taken from Parrish’s ship.” He handed her the log with the bookmarked page. She read it curiously, an empowered smile gracing her lips as she looked back up.

“First the Urca and now this?” She handed the log to Mr. Scott and turned back to Flint, “He here?”

Flint nodded to Gates, who left the room only to return moments later with Billy and no Silver.

“We have a problem.”

“Someone’s pistol went off,” Billy explained, “I turned to see what had happened - the whole tavern did - and when I turned back he was gone.”

Flint stared at Billy with fierce eyes, even while Gates patted him on the back reassuringly. The man was a son to him, and the quartermaster believed a father had a duty to forgive the mistakes of their sons. Billy would make it right.

“Must have capitalised on the distraction.” Gates mused the obvious aloud in an attempt to dispel the growing unease. Flint, however, continued to glare,

“Go find him.” The captain intended to be a warning, and Billy certainly seemed to take it as such. The tall man quickly marched out of the tavern and into the street, a look of determination written on his face. Whatever he thought about the captain, and Gates knew well what he thought of him, Billy would never disobey an order.

Once Billy was out of sight Gates turned to Flint, “I’ll search here some more. Ask around - see if someone saw him leave.”

Flint nodded and headed out the tavern himself without another word. Gates waited for a few moment until he was sure his captain had gone and then turned to Eleanor, who was watching the display with no small amount of distaste.

“Miss Guthrie. Might I have a word?” She levelled an unimpressed look but motioned him into her office nonetheless. They may have an asset on the run, but Gates had other more pressing matters to attend to, specifically one impending mutiny that he would quite like to avoid.

———————————

Silver ran. To where? He would figure that out when he got there. All he knew right now was he had to run. He couldn’t let those pirates sell him to England, that was for sure, and if they didn’t sell him they would kill him - also an outcome he would rather avoid.

The most logical place to flee to was somewhere away from the town. Limit the number of people who might be able to point Flint and his gigantor bosun in his direction. So where could he go? Lacking knowledge of the island put him at a disadvantage over his pursuers, but he could acquire that knowledge quickly enough - he just needed the right source of information…

A collision with something solid found Silver on his backside in the dirt. He blinked up at the offending object to see an intensely well-muscled, long haired man staring down at him with raised eyebrows.

“On the run, are we?” The man spoke with a gravelly voice that had Silver’s hairs standing on end. He tried his most charming smile and stood quickly, noticing only now that the man had companions - a fiery-haired female with a wide-brimmed hat, and a elaborately dressed man with the most pristine beard Silver had ever seen.

“In a manner of speaking…” Silver breathed, stalling. This man could quite possibly tear him apart should he wish to - and given Silver had just rammed full-pelt into him, he could well wish to. Silver needed fuel. Had to come up with something more interesting than his destruction…and there it was, right at the forefront of the man’s mind.

“I happen to find myself at odds with Captain Flint.” That piqued the man’s interest. He tilted his head in an indication for Silver to continue, which he quite eagerly did. “You see. I acquired insight into a prize he intends to hunt…an unescorted Spanish treasure galleon, I believe…but he cannot acquire it without this.”

He held up half a torn sheet of paper - half of the Urca schedule, which he had had the sense to relieve Captain Flint of before they escorted him off the Walrus. His captors hadn’t apparently noticed when he left them, but he didn’t imagine it would be long before they did.

The man took the scrap of paper with interest, and Silver took his opportunity. This would have to be distraction enough. He sprinted away towards a rocky area in the distance, praying that the portion of the Urca schedule he had given the three would be more interesting than the prospect of catching him. After all, he was insignificant to Vane, Anne and Jack - an interesting trio, but one he hoped not to have to be engaged with again.

Silver head was already pounding as the rocks became distinguishable from mere shadows in the distance. Jack had inadvertently informed him that the wrecks might be a suitable place to hide. Silver just prayed that its occupants were as braindead as Jack seemed to believe. He had used his abilities more than he was comfortable with today and could feel it wearing on him. He just needed some place devoid of sentient beings to rest before he lost all control - the domain of opium addicts seemed rather fitting of that description.

It took a lot longer to reach the wrecks than Silver had expected. Exhausted, his run had fallen to a brisk walk only minutes after he had fled Vane and his partners. Now, as the rocks finally drew near, he could barely describe the gait as an amble. The sun was beginning to fall below the horizon, and the growing dark made the looming dark rocks appear unnervingly ominous.

Still, a gloomy mass of rocks was surely preferable to the wrath of an angry pirate captain, so Silver pressed on. His headache, which had been starting to abate, was returning as he neared the wrecks. So there were at least some cognitive residents of the area. He staggered the last few steps to reach the first outcrop of ragged boulders interrupting the smooth sand of the beach and collapsed beside them. Surely it would take Flint and his entourage some time to search this far…he had time to rest.

——————————

Silver’s eyes opened to darkness. He must have fallen asleep for several hours, long enough for the dim grey of evening to morph into pitch black night. To his left a scattering of fires lit up the rocks with splashes of orange hue and sent embers dancing up into the abyss of the sky. There was no moon tonight, leaving only stars and those far away fires to light up the wrecks. The twinkling of Nassau town could be seen on the horizon to his right. It looked enticingly safe compared to the proximal craggy array of rocks and silence that seemingly ebbed from within them.

But the lights of that town were like a siren’s call. A guise of warmth and comfort luring him to his certain death at the hands of Captain Flint, or worse in those of England. Wearily, he stood and walked on into the wrecks. After a few moments he noticed a dark shadow distinct from his own cast by something alarmingly close, something that was encroaching on his position. He turned just in time to see Flint’s bosun leap from atop a boulder to land a mere metre from him.

Silver turned and ran. With renewed energy he scaled rocks, ducked through tunnels and weaved between protrusions of stone in an attempt to outrun his pursuer. His lithe form served him well in such situations, and would surely allow him to evade the muscle-enriched taller man. Silver forced himself to ignore the pounding in his head and the stinging of the shredded skin on his bare feet and kept running.

Up ahead there was a large, thick rock overhanging another with a small gap between the two - too small for Billy but just big enough for him. Silver quickly slid between the rocks and held his breath. He could hear Billy panting from the chase somewhere nearby. Footfalls sounded from above, stopping directly overhead. And then they moved on some before pausing again, Silver presumed so Billy could elect his next trajectory. But then his hiding place moved.

At first he thought it was his tired mind playing tricks on him. Perhaps the adrenaline disturbing the clarity of his vision. But he could feel the pressure from the cold stone above him alleviate and the sea breeze come to grace his sweaty skin as the rock shifted position. The massive hunk of stone was lifted higher and higher until it was several feet above him, being held overhead by the tall, chiselled form of Billy.

“Jesus Christ!” Silver probably ought to have run, but seeing a man wield a massive lump of stone like it was nothing more than a moderately-sized barrel of rum tended to cloud one’s judgement. “What the fuck?!”

Billy discarded the rock with only a slight grunt of effort and reached down to pull Silver to his feet. Without a word he was dragging the dumbfounded smaller man back up the beach towards the flickering lights of the town and Captain Flint’s judgement.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'But, because nothing ever went as planned for James Flint, his return offered him only the unpleasant finding that the one item necessary to undertake the intended hunt, the schedule, was gone. Stolen. Torn right from the log on his desk, leaving only the jagged edge of the page it was written on jutting from the spine to taunt him.'

Flint had had his fair share of shit days in the past. So he knew very well what a shit day felt like. And this was most certainly a shit day.

Today was made even more shit by the very fact that it started out with such promise. He had returned to Nassau with the Urca course and schedule in his possession, had managed to bring Eleanor Guthrie to the table in support of his endeavour, and had a man in his custody who was worth enough coin to finance at least three more ships in the bay or a good handful of guns in the fort, along with men to use them.

And all that had gone swiftly to hell.

First he loses the hefty bounty on an island full of men who would quite willingly sell their souls, and those of anyone in the vicinity, for even the smallest amount of coin.

That, alone, would not be so bad in light of the impressive prize that was finally within his grasp. So it was not in too low spirits that he left his quartermaster and bosun to recapture the bounty. After all, how could they fail to find someone as conspicuous as bright eyed, bouncy haired John Silver on an island populated largely by aesthetically challenged men?

He, meanwhile, was resolved to return to his ship and begin pouring over charts and maps to plan their assault on the Urca. That had been the intention.

But, because nothing ever went as planned for James Flint, his return offered him only the unpleasant finding that the one item necessary to undertake the intended hunt, the schedule, was gone. Stolen. Torn right from the log on his desk, leaving only the jagged edge of the page it was written on jutting from the spine to taunt him.

There had been overturned tables and chairs, bottles smashed in rage, and at least one crate stomped on for good measure. Finally, his anger cooling to a turbid simmer, he had taken the log and made a hasty retreat inland. He would find the thief. And they would pay - he would give them the privilege of seeing first-hand precisely why all the new world feared his name.

———

“You’re tracking sand on my floor.”

The nonchalant welcome drifted liltingly from the drawing room, and Flint was forced to wonder whether Miranda ever just said ‘hello’ or ‘good afternoon’ by way of greeting. But he already found his rage dissipating on hearing her lofty voice, carried like music on the calm air of the interior.

He obligingly removed his boots and set them neatly by the door, standing just as she emerged into the main room of her small house.

“I had not expected to see you so soon.” She kissed him on the cheek and set about preparing some tea. “Did you not find it? The schedule?”

He sat at the table with a small smile, unable to keep at bay the feeling of peace he felt in his home with this woman, so far removed from the raucous company of Nassau’s pirates.

“We found it - Parrish’s ship, the schedule. Everything.”

“Then why does your expression resemble that of a small child who just broke his favourite toy?”

“It was stolen.”

“Stolen? By whom?”

“I don’t know. It must have been one of the crew…” Flint glared out the window as if hoping to spot the perpetrator meandering in the fields outside, “No one else has access to the ship.”

She set a china cup brimming with tea before him and sat with her own cup opposite.

“Do you have the log?” She said, only after awarding herself a sip of the warm beverage. With a nod he pulled the volume from within his coat and set it down on the table. Miranda’s hand rested upon its cover and she closed her eyes. Flint waited, tea in hand and poised to be sipped, but remaining still until she looked at him again.

He sipped and she spoke.

“I might be able to fashion something to help you find your thief.” She lifted the cup to her mouth, “But finish your tea first.”

A full pot of tea and a plate of sweet buns later, the two were stood together in the tidy drawing room, Flint with the log in hand and Miranda holding a collection of herbs and flowers in various states of desiccation. She had decorated the wooden floor with red paint in intricate patterns, some of which he might have recognised, whilst others seemed entirely unfamiliar.

“This is a spell I came across just the other day. Hidden in a volume of Henry V, of all places.” She informed him as the plants were placed around the red lines in apparently precise locations that appeared entirely haphazardly chosen.

“Are you sure it will work?” He asked, brows furrowed into a deep frown. Unimpressed by his lack of faith, she only levelled him a dismissive glance. When had her spells ever failed?

Sure enough, before the sun had disappeared fully behind the horizon but long after the light of day had given way to the pink hues of evening, she stood from her position knelt amidst the red painted patterns holding a thinly woven collection plant stems.

“It will start to thrum, in a manner, when the missing page is near.” She said, tucking the trinket into his belt. “The spell will wear off after three days, so you had best locate your thief before then. It cannot be redone after that.”

“If I am unable to find him by then, the information will more than likely have been sold and all hope of retrieving the Urca gold lost anyway.” He returned, taking her hand and planting a kiss on it with a smile, “Thank you.”

“Will you be leaving now? It is getting dark - perhaps you might stay for dinner?” She called after him as he left the room.

“Time is short.” He called back, voice strained from bending over to replace his boots, “I will return as soon as the schedule is secured and our preparations for retrieving the gold are underway.”

When he stood back up, Miranda was in the doorway with her hands on her hips and a critical eye on his boots.

“Those need repairing.”

Flint grinned back at her and, with a final departing kiss to her cheek, was gone.

Spirits lifted and hopes restored, he rode back towards the town ready to find his thief and thoroughly teach them the definition of holy hell.

———

“D’ya think he was telling the truth?” Anne muttered into the darkness, voice low and eyes never leaving the scene before her.

“Who?” Jack, equally quiet and similarly fixated on events unfolding in the distance.

“That boy.”

“Don’t know. But I do know that it is the closest thing to a lead we have received in a very long time.”

“Then what the fuck are we doing ‘ere?”

Here being lingering in the shadows watching Singleton argue with Mosiah over loyalties a few metres away. Levi stood behind, posture entirely defensive and betraying his lack of trust for their would-be captain.

“We, my dear, are making an investment that will see us secured a number of talented crewmen…whilst indulging the captain in his personal crusade against Flint.”

She scoffed but stepped forward nonetheless when Mosiah and his companion made to leave the area. They paused, seeing her and the flicker of sparks rolling from her palm.

Between Anne Bonny and Charles Vane, neither man left their camp that night, and Flint’s hold on the Walrus captaincy dwindled just that bit more.

———

Billy was not enjoying the trip back to town. He was leading, or rather dragging, Silver behind him by a vice grip on his bicep that served both to pull the man along and keep him upright every time he stumbled in an attempt to keep up with Billy’s unnecessarily fast pace.

The bosun was glaring intently into the darkness ahead, annoyance intensifying every time the smaller man tripped. Perhaps Silver would have less trouble walking if he would just shut up.

“I take it we are not going to discuss what happened back there.”

Silver was talking. Had been talking since shortly after they had left the wrecks. Why he was still talking, Billy couldn’t fathom. But he was talking.

“I mean, is it ordinary in Nassau for men to haul overhead rocks easily equal the weight of ten grown men like it was nothing?”

No it was not ordinary. And most people, having witnessed such a distinctly unordinary show of inhuman strength, would be too damn petrified to utter a word. But not John Silver. He was still fucking talking.

“Alright then. What about your beloved captain?”

“What about him?” Billy replied gruffly, begrudgingly falling into Silver’s conversational trap.

“Well, I can’t help but notice that you don’t seem to like him very much. And I imagine most of your men share that sentiment.” Silver tripped. The Billy’s hand firm grip kept him sufficiently upright to not perturb his speech.

“Certainly that mutineer of yours seems to think so.”

“Mutineer?”

“I can’t blame you, of course. The short hauls…the mistrust…the secrets…”

“What mutineer?”

“Bald. Ugly scar on an ugly face…”

“Singleton.” Billy muttered under his breath. He knew Singleton was intending to elect himself for captaincy, but the idea that he actually had enough support to do so was disconcerting. Captain Flint might have his downsides, but Singleton as captain would see the Walrus crew ended.

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“What?”

“That your captain, and more importantly his quartermaster, are keeping such a significant prize from you?”

Billy came to an abrupt halt and spun to face Silver, leaning over to come at eye level with him. That had struck a nerve.

In the darkness, the bosun’s sharp, chiselled features cast foreboding shadows that had Silver’s blood run just a bit colder.

“Do you even realise your position?” He asked. Not threatening so much as honestly incredulous.

Silver’s eyes glinted, “Do you?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Let me tell you a story. About a Spaniard named Vasquez…” Silver let his silver tongue go to work, spinning an elaborate and invigorating tale about a self-righteous captain who stood his ground against the authorities to which he was subject. A captain who met a slow, and unfortunate, end because of his refusal to subject that treasure to the dangers of storms and pirates. A captain who passed onto an Englishman the details of where one might find the hulk of all treasures…

So engrossed was Billy in Silver’s tale that he didn’t even register when their company became three. Indeed, it was not until the story came to an elaborate close, complete with embellished details of Vasquez’s painful death, that he noticed an unfamiliar presence behind him.

“That’s quite the story indeed. And where did you come by it?”

Billy started, spinning suddenly to face the newcomer.

Unfortunately, he had not time to determine who this person was as, having forgotten his death grip on Silver’s arm, he had inadvertently managed to fling the smaller man directly into the person with enough momentum to send both flying several metres off into the sand.

“Shit!” Billy bit out as he ran over to the bundle of limbs of his creation. Both were evidently unconscious, unsurprisingly given the force of the impact.

In the dark, he couldn’t see much of the unknown man, but he could just make out the grey powdered wig that signified a man of status. And there were not many men of status on this island…

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo much blocks to the writing at the moment so it is a short chapter! >_

**Author's Note:**

> Please - any feedback would be damn awesome as I have little clue where this idea came from. There will be some actual mutant powers and more characters (also maybe a plot...) in the next chapter!


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